


back at the beginning

by bettyandrews (cherryliqueur)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Begging, Cunnilingus, Emotional Sex, F/M, Impact Play, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Prostitution, Restraints, Riverdale Kink Week, Temperature Play, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 19:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryliqueur/pseuds/bettyandrews
Summary: She assumes that the staff knows what she is by now – why she’s here more than once a week, always with a different man but never overnight – but she hardly cares.Her clients pay a pretty price for her and an even prettier price for her discretion, and when you know what it’s like to leave your hometown with nothing to your name, every penny counts.





	back at the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> My first time ever participating in a Riverdale Event! Ah!
> 
> To clarify, this is a canon divergence in which Archie leaves Riverdale altogether after they break him out of juvie. It was a scenario I've wanted to play with ever since that episode aired, so when this theme for the Kink Week rolled around, I fell into this idea pretty quickly. It was intended to be kinkier than it turned out, and this is probably as tame as BDSM could possibly be, but I was excited to finally write Betty and Archie! I definitely plan on writing more; not in the near future, but it'll definitely happen. Thus, a new psuedonym!
> 
> -  
**Riverdale Kink Week**  
Theme One: Welcome to the Maple Club (BDSM)

“You being stood up, baby doll?”

Betty glances up from her phone, her smile in place despite the bartender’s eyes lingering far lower than her lips. Thanks to the little pink cocktail dress her client sent her (yes,_ sent her_) to wear, her breasts are pushed up high and almost spill over the cups of the bustier – something that had drawn stares the moment she strutted through the hotel doors and straight to the bar. She assumes that the staff knows what she is by now – why she’s here more than once a week, always with a different man but never overnight – but she hardly cares. Her clients pay a pretty price for her and an even prettier price for her discretion, and when you know what it’s like to leave your hometown with nothing to your name, every penny counts.

And she truly had_ nothing_ when she left Riverdale. Her mother gave away her entire savings to The Farm and then _left_, and so did Polly, and the saddest part is that Betty hadn’t been surprised. Part of her had even been relieved. With her serial killer of a father locked away and her mother and sister gone with their cult, Betty had nothing left for her in Riverdale. Not her best friend, who was too busy saving her businesses and warring with her parents to really be there for Betty. Not her boyfriend, who was losing control over the Serpents and taking her along for the downward spiral, whether she liked it or not. Not Kevin or Cheryl. Not even_ Josie_, who simply left town altogether.

Just like Archie did.

He’d left in the middle of the night, just a few days after they broke him out of juvie. Which hadn’t been the plan, of course, but no matter how much they talked about clearing his name, Betty knew Hiram Lodge would find another way to carry out his grudge. Archie simply wasn’t safe in Riverdale, and his only real choice had been to leave.

If Betty had known she would be leaving only a few weeks later, she would have just gone with him.

“Not at all,” Betty replies sweetly, taking another sip from her drink. Her client is nearing on two hours late, but it’s a game Betty is more than used to by now. He’s already paid her in full to ensure her secrecy; if he wants to stroke his own ego by making his little escort wait for him, knowing she’ll do as he wants, no matter what, then she’ll sit here and wait.

The bartender gives her a skeptical arch of his eyebrow, smirking as he leans an arm against the counter. “Want to give me his name? Rough him up a little?”

She breathes out a laugh, traces the salted rim of her cocktail glass with her finger. He’s just flirting, she knows, but just the idea of someone offering to help her tugs at that small corner of her mind that remembers what it was like to have someone on her team. Betty has done fine on her own and she’s proud of it, but, from time to time, she indulges in what it would be like to have just one other person looking out for her. But even if she felt compelled to give up her client’s name, she can’t. She only has a phone number and a room number to meet him in when he decides to show up. Her manager is the one that handles the transaction and Betty prefers it that way. 

“But if you leave, who will serve me drinks?” she asks, licking the salt off of her finger, and the bartender chuckles.

“Damn, you’re good.” She blinks, tilts her head as if in ignorance, and he flashes his teeth in a grin. “Now I know why you’re here three times as much as any of the other girls. The whole small-town-meets-big-city vibe is…” He waves a vague hand at her, licking his bottom lip. “Must keep your men happy, feeling like you actually need them. _Want _them.”

“What can I say?” Betty smiles, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m a pleaser.”

The bartender laughs, but before he can think of a flirty reply, her phone lights up with a text from her client, and she slides to unlock her screen.

**From: Unknown**  
_Change of plans. Presidential suite._

Betty arches an eyebrow. Well, that’s certainly a first.

She doesn’t doubt that half of her clients can afford the most expensive suites offered in this hotel, but they almost always rent a second, smaller room for them to meet in, away from anything personal or incriminating that she could stumble upon on her way out. She doesn’t believe they’d book a presidential suite just for this, but at the same time, she doubts anyone staying in a luxury suite would invite an escort into their personal space.

“Duty calls?”

Betty tilts a smirk at the bartender, sliding off of the stool and onto her tall, thin heels. “Thank you for the company,” she says as she always does, sliding a crisp bill his way, then she snatches her clutch off of the counter and waltzes over to the elevator. She appraises her reflection in the glass – her hair falling in curls around her face, a pale pink dress draped over her frame – and the eerily familiar sight makes her chest tighten. The last time Betty looked like this, she stood at a high school dance, on the arm of the boy who had been her whole world.

She’s come a long way since that night, and from the naïve girl who thought Jason Blossom’s drowning would be one of the worst things to happen to Riverdale, and thought that Archie Andrews not returning her crush would be one of the worst things to happen to _her. _But part of her wonders if she would have still left town and felt as proud of herself for making it on her own as she does right now, even without all of the horrors she’d survived. She likes to think so. She refuses to believe that heartbreak is the only way to learn what’s good for her.

But that doesn’t make her naïve. Not even a little.

A chime pulls her from her thoughts, and she clasps both hands around her clutch as the elevator opens up into a small hallway, right in front of a set of doors and a man in a black suit. A security detail, most likely, based on the shades over his eyes and the way he keeps his hands folded behind his back as he nods. “Miss Elizabeth,” he greets, producing a keycard and seeming to ignore the way her entire body jerks back in surprise.

_Elizabeth_. Never, not once, has a client or anyone associated with their transaction addressed her by her actual name. It’s not a secret, per se – her manager knows it, and that means any and every client she handles for Betty could potentially find out – but with all the secrecy of hiring an escort, it’s practically taboo.

The man in the suit unlocks the doors with a tap of the keycard, holds one open for her, and if he wonders why she’s hesitating, he does a good job at hiding it.

But with a soft exhale, she steps inside, trying not to flinch when the door is pulled shut behind her.

The suite is grand, grander than anything she’s ever seen, with tall ceilings and a wide, open floorplan and a spiraling staircase up into the second floor.

And it’s completely empty.

That in itself isn’t unusual, but, as her eyes sweep over the space, she can’t find anything that could pass for a blindfold, nor can she find any kind of note that she might be expected to read. She rubs her lips together, taking a few more tentative steps forward, both of her hands firmly on her clutch, just in case her client suddenly appears and tries to accuse her of snooping. But there’s not a single thing out of place, not any item that could suggest that anyone is actually staying in this suite. If not for the guard clearly waiting for her outside, and the plaque that read _Presidential Suite _in gold on the doors, she would’ve thought she’d gotten the wrong room.

Then she hears a voice.

Low and muffled but distinctively male, trailing through the air and growing clearer as he approaches, and she turns her head just as a figure steps out from around the corner where the suite evidently continues.

But Betty can’t marvel at just how vast this damn suite is. Can’t even_ breathe_ as the man meets her eyes, his perfect white teeth flashing in a grin that takes her right back to Riverdale, to high school, to standing at her bedroom window like a little girl on Christmas Eve, eager for a chance to see him and keep him all for herself.

She doesn’t realize she’s dropped her clutch onto the carpet until both of her hands are pressing against her chest, trying in vain to keep her heart from beating right out of her ribcage.

_Archie?_

It comes out in a question in her thoughts, but no matter how much of her is in disbelief, she knows, deep down, there’s nothing to wonder. She’d recognize Archie Andrews in an instant no matter where they are, no matter how much time has passed and no matter how different he looks. Which he_ does_, just a little bit. That bright red hair has been dyed a dark brown, practically black, and there’s a scar that cuts through the edge of one eyebrow, though it looks as though it’s been there for years.

_Years_. That’s how long it’s been since she saw him. In the middle of the night, in the dark of her bedroom, as he held her close and let her cry into his chest and promised that he would see her later. Like he was going away for the weekend and not leaving town for good. She didn’t tell anyone that Archie had gone to see her before leaving town, especially when she’d quickly found out that he hadn’t visited anyone else. Sharing this would have just caused more problems at the time, and she selfishly wanted to hold onto this one memory all for herself.

She watches him speak into his phone again before pulling it away, quite literally tossing it aside as he gives her a crooked, boyish sort of smile.

“I didn’t think you’d come that quick or I would’ve been done already,” he says as he gestures to wherever his phone had landed, but she can’t bring herself to look anywhere other than at his face. His smile softens as he steps toward her, and suddenly, there’s too much space. Part of her is still convinced that she’s hallucinating, but if she is, she’s going to indulge in it. She’s can’t be this far from him.

“Archie?” she breathes, her voice coming out in a mewl as she practically throws herself at him, but his arms are around her in an instant, holding her firmly in place as her hands run over the lapels of his blazer, up to his shoulders, down his biceps, then latching on tight. Her chest feels tight and her throat feels even tighter, but somehow, she gets her voice out again. “Please tell me this is real,” she breathes, but as his lips part to respond, the sight of a faint, silver scar on his left cheek has her reaching up to touch it gently, and the small gesture brings them back to years ago, when she touched him just like this on the football field. She watches his expression shift, recalling the memory just as easily as she does, but this time, he doesn’t flinch away.

He leans into her touch, sliding his hands down to her hips, holding her. “It’s real,” he answers, voice rough, his eyes darting across her face, down to her dress and back up. “Though, with you in this dress, I’m getting flashbacks.”

She _laughs_, and it sounds hysterical, but she doesn’t care.

Then she throws her arms around him, stretches on her toes and buries her face into his neck as she holds him tight, her body shaking. He’s wearing something woodsy, she can tell, but there’s still that clean, crisp smell that’s distinctly_ him_ just underneath, that brings her back to summer milkshakes and skipping rocks across the river. He slides a hand up, cupping the back of her neck through her hair and tucking her even tighter against him, if possible.

It takes a long moment for her shuddering breaths to even out, but when they do, he strokes his thumb over the delicate curve of her throat, soothing her with that single touch, and she lifts her head from his neck. She knows there are tears on her cheek, but she doesn’t bother wiping them away and neither does Archie.

“Come on,” he says gently, guiding her with the hand still on her hip as he walks them back toward a couch. He sinks into the cushion, pulling her onto his lap with the motion, her arms still wound around his neck. She may not be latched onto him as tightly as a moment ago, but she doesn’t dare let go.

She stares into those big, bright eyes, gnawing on her bottom lip as she tries to pull herself and her thoughts back together. When Archie runs his thumb across the seam of her mouth, freeing her bottom lip before she can dig her teeth in hard enough to draw blood – something he knows she’s done before, too preoccupied in her own head to notice – she exhales a shaky breath. “How…” She stops herself. “Are you…?”

He traces his thumb down her chin. “Am I your client?” he asks gently, finding her words for her. “No, I’m not.”

This makes her pause. “How did you find me, then?”

“I didn’t even know we were in the same city until a few days ago,” he admits. He nods over her shoulder, at where they had just been standing. “That right there that you felt? That’s _exactly_ what hit me the second I saw you sitting at that bar three days ago.” To meet her last client. Neither of them add this, but they don’t really need to. Oddly enough, Archie doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the implication hanging over them, and his next words tell her why: “Then I looked into why you left Riverdale and how you ended up here.” His eyebrows furrow and his jaw ticks, and Betty marvels in the fleeting but undeniable flash of_ rage_ behind his eyes as he practically growls out, “I can’t believe all that happened to you.”

_All that_. It’s hardly enough to sum up the downward spiral her life had quickly fallen in after he’d left town, but he probably can’t bring himself to say any of it out loud and she doesn’t really want to relive the reality of it, either.

“So, you know?” She doesn’t feel_ ashamed_. She’s done what she’s needed to, to be on her own, and being an escort never put anyone else in danger; anything beyond that is no one else’s business. But, for the first time in a while, she lets the bitterness reach her voice as she considers her situation. “About what I’ve done?”

“What you’ve done?” He exhales an almost incredulous breath. “You mean, to make it on your own?” He squeezes the hand still curved over her hip, and Betty feels her breath hitch. “You had to start from scratch. You’re putting yourself through pre-med and _passing _and keeping your lights on, keeping yourself fed. All on your own.” He pulls her closer, her chest pressing against his, and she wonders if he can feel how fast and how hard her heart is thrumming. “You pulled through, Betty.”

“So did you,” she whispers, a tingle spreading across her skin at his words. “I mean, look at this place,” she says with a soft laugh as she tips her head back, peering up, up,_ up_ at the ceiling and toward the loft on the second floor. “How can you even _afford _this?”

His chuckle is low and breathy, and it makes a warmth unfurl low in her stomach. “I got really lucky when I left town and ran someone who was willing to listen. Guess looking back, spilling my whole sad story to first person I came across was a stupid risk,” he says with another chuckle. But he doesn’t seem bothered by his own words, so Betty doesn’t interrupt to tell him that the fact he could trust _anyone _after the damage that Hiram Lodge had done wasn’t stupid at all. It was_ beautiful_. “But he took a chance on me. He was going to start his own business in security and took me under his wing. I guess he figured someone who feared for his own life would be a pretty good at protecting others, too.”

“You were _always _good at protecting others,” Betty says, her voice soft.

His smile is slow and wide, and so very _Archie_ that she feels a little bit like she can’t breathe again. “You’ve always thought so, huh?”

“I’ve always_ known_ so.”

He chuckles again, squeezing her hip. “Guess that’s true, because pretty soon the business took off. It was the first time in a while that I actually felt useful, you know?” He shrugs a shoulder. “I didn’t even care that we had to keep my name out of everything at first, just in case Hiram Lodge sent people after me again. I just… was_ good_ at something. I was in control again, and then they asked me to oversee our branch expansion in the West Coast and I’ve been here ever since.”

“It suits you.” Her fingers toying with the collar of his dress shirt, her face only inches from his. “I guess that explains how you looked into me so fast.”

“Yeah.” Archie tilts a boyish smile up at her. “The investigators in the world of private security can figure out just about anything. Including what we needed to make your client tonight walk away. He tried to negotiate, but…” He shrugs a shoulder, eyes glinting. “We made him an offer that he couldn’t refuse,” Archie says, but there’s something just a little daring in his tone, something just a little daunting in his eyes, that tells Betty that it had been less of an offer and more of a command.

That Archie knew, in the end, he would still get exactly what he wanted.

“So, I suppose you’re mine for tonight,” he says, his voice warm as it ghosts across her lips. Betty blinks slowly, her eyes flicking across his face, trying to reconcile the boy she remembers with the man that is tracing lazy circles over her thigh, playing with the short hem of her cocktail dress, which has practically bunched to her hips with the way he’d pulled her onto his lap. The boy she grew up with would have been hesitant to touch too long, wouldn’t have dared to joke about_ buying_ her, even if it’s true in the most literal sense, at least for tonight.

The boy she grew up with thought he wasn’t enough for her. He thought he wasn’t _perfect_ like her_._

But the man in front of her? He _knows _that he’s enough, and, just under the slow, lazy sort of smirk pulling at his lips, she can see his mind calculating. Like he knows he’s perfect for her, and he knows exactly how he plans on proving it.

“_Yours_.” She leans in even closer, her lips a breath away from his. “Just for tonight?”

“Well, that depends,” he murmurs, practically kissing her with each word. She wants to scoff, pretend to be offended, even though she knows from the glint in his eyes and the drawl in his voice that he’s simply teasing. But he hooks an arm around her and lifts her up before she can even blink, her legs locking around his hips and his fingers splaying across the bared skin of her back, holding her in place against his chest. “If I were a client, what would we be doing right now?”

She draws back slightly in surprise, but he smooths his palm up and down her spine, quickly easing her nerves from his question.

“It’s just us,” he reminds, walking them toward the staircase and easily carrying her up the steps, never once breaking their stare. “Tell me, Betty.”

He says it simply, like he’s asking her to share her day, and the words come tumbling out of her before she can quite catch them: “They almost always fuck my mouth first,” she shares, lips tugging in a wry smile, and he nods once as he slides her down his body, setting her back onto her feet. One glance over her shoulder tells her that they’re in the bedroom of the suite now, but then Archie grasps her chin, bringing her to face him once more.

“They take care of themselves first?” He steps into her space, reaches up and sweeps his palms across her bared shoulders until his fingers find the thin knot of ribbons holding her dress up.

“They take care of themselves,_ always_,” Betty whispers, glancing away from his face, then bringing her eyes back to his when he makes a noise of disapproval. She thought that she’d find a little anger in his eyes, or see the wheels turning in his mind, as if planning to make every single man regret for treating her like an object. What she finds instead is _arousal_, his gaze lingering on her lips as he slowly, slowly peels away the fabric of her dress, beginning to reveal the bustier just underneath.

“Do they make you swallow?”

A shiver rolls down her spine as the pink, silky material falls to the floor at her heels. “Not usually,” she admits, still staring straight into Archie’s eyes, watching a flash of_ something_ pass through the dark arousal as he takes in her answer. His large, warm hands run down the texture of her lacy lingerie, following the curves of her breasts, her waist, her hips, finding the small ribbons holding her panties in place.

“They come on you?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. He lifts a hand to touch her cheek with his knuckles, sweeping them across the delicate, flushed skin, as if wiping away the mark that he knows every other man must have left on her.

“And do they get you ready for them?” he asks, bringing his hand back down from her face and between her legs, dragging his knuckles across the wetness quickly soaking her lace panties. Her eyelashes flutter as her hands grasp onto the sleeves of his blazer, needing to steady herself as her knees wobble ever so slightly as he rubs his knuckles back and forth, back and forth.

“That’s what lube is for.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Before he can ask – and she_ knows_ he was going to ask – she adds, “and I can only come if I can pretend they’re someone else. But even that barely works for me anymore.”

He draws his hand away, and she shudders out a breath.

“Do you trust me, Betty?”

Her nod is instant, but she still answers. “Of course I do.”

The words are barely out of her mouth when she feels herself being lifted and tossed backward as if she weighs nothing, landing easily on the bed, a giggle falling from her lips as she tries to sit upright. Archie’s lips are pulled into a smile as he turns away from her and toward an armoire, producing a few of his ties that must have been hanging inside. “You ever been blindfolded?” he asks.

“Almost always,” she admits with a bit of a laugh.

He chuckles, crosses the distance between them and sets a knee on the bed. “Well, that’s good, because your eyes have always been one of my favorite parts of you.” He reaches up, runs his fingertip across one of her eyebrows. “You ever been tied down?”

He already knows the answer, she can tell, because he doesn’t wait for her to reply before he’s guiding her back against the bed and grabs her wrist, drawing it up toward the sleek, metal headboard. “Never,” she says, her breath catching in her throat when she feels him knot the tie with ease, securing her arm above her head. He leans over her, repeating the knot with the other wrist, and she finds herself entirely restrained.

But rather than feeling anxious, she feels completely, desperately _aroused_.

“Archie,” she breathes.

He loosens the tie around his neck, pulls it free and sets it on the nightstand. Then he shrugs out of his blazer, draping it over the back of the chair by the nightstand, and then he starts undoing the buttons of his shirt. Slowly – so, so_ slowly_ – and she squirms as she watches, aware of how incredibly wet she is. “You don’t get a choice as an escort, don’t you?” he asks, and though his voice sounds smug and taunting, she knows Archie. Even now, after all these years, she can easily hear the words he really says:_ This, right now, is your choice, because you trust me to know what’s best for you._

She _does_.

After all these years, she still trusts Archie the most, and she thinks she always will.

He shrugs out of his shirt, draping it over his blazer on the chair, and her eyes trace every sculpted slope of his arms, every hard line of his chest, until they land onto the _v_ of his hips as he pulls his belt from his slacks and pushes them down his hips. A whimper practically falls from her lips as she licks them, taking in the hard, thick length of his cock just a few feet from her face. Her lips part, her breaths growing heavier as he wraps a hand around himself and pulls in a lazy stroke.

“We start with your mouth, don’t we?” he asks, teasing, giving himself another slow tug as he walks over to her, and she jerks her head in a nod. But rather than bringing his cock to her lips, he climbs onto the bed and settles between her legs, bracing himself with one hand as he pins her thigh in place with the other. “But with me, we’ll start with your mouth_ begging_.”

He dips his head, lips closing around her pussy through her damp panties, and she gasps as she jerks against her restraints.

He licks at her through the lace, groaning, rubbing the textured material against her wet, sensitive folds with every broad stroke. The sensation is somehow too much as the lace tickles and teases her, but not enough, knowing that he can lick her so much deeper, so much harder, without her damn panties in the way. Her body twists, arching off of the bed as she tugs uselessly against the ties. She wants to pull her panties aside, wants to hold him in place and chase her own high on his tongue, but she_ can’t_.

“Archie,_ please_,” she moans, lifting her head to watch as he goes down on her through her lingerie. His eyes flick up to hers, holding her stare as he licks a circle over the tight bundle of nerves he’s managed to tease through the lace. She nearly squeals. “_Please!_”

“You don’t want to come,” he murmurs, kissing the twitching entrance of her sex through her panties.

“I…?” Betty swallows, twists her head and presses her cheek against the duvet as he nibbles at the lace, noses at her clit. “I-_I_…”

“Beg me to stop, because you don’t want to come like this,” he soothes, stroking his palm along the inside her thigh as he circles and circles his tongue.

“But I do,” she whimpers. She feels… she’s_ so…_

“You don’t want to come with me?” Archie sucks at her clit as best as he can through the lace and her eyes nearly roll closed as her hips jump. “You don’t want to feel me right_ here?_” He licks her entrance again, and again, and she exhales sharply, staring down at him through glazed eyes as he teases and teases her folds with the tip of his tongue. “Because I think you do.”

“_Yes_.”

He smirks. “Yes, what?”

Betty moans, frustrated. Since when was Archie Andrews so_ evil?_ “I want to come with you,” she manages through a tight throat. “I want to come with you_ in_ me.”

He flashes his teeth in a quick grin. “Then you better beg.”

He tugs her panties aside, lips closing around her clit, and she nearly cries out from the pure pleasure of it. She does exactly that, begging and pleading for him to stop, to not make her come, even though her body wants the exact opposite. His tongue licks through her folds, dipping into her and curling, and her legs shake in her effort to keep from coming. She can’t, she can’t,_ she can’t_.

But then he twists his head, placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh before drawing away, and her body slumps back against the mattress in frustrated relief. She feels him ease her panties down her legs, then off, tossing them aside on the bed and doing the same with her heels. Then he curls his hand around her calf, gently bending her knee and kissing the top of it before pulling away entirely.

“I’ll be back,” he tells her, and she lets her eyes flutter closed as she hears him quietly and quickly make his way downstairs.

She licks her lips, trying to catch her breath as she feels the wisps of her orgasm fall away. She feels tingly and hazy, feels aroused and desired in a way she simply_ hasn’t_ in such a long time, and it makes everything all the more heightened for her. All the more disorienting, but in the_ best_ way. She’d been so lost to her pleasure and to his command that she’d begged for Archie to_ stop_ her from coming, simply because he wanted her to.

A soft clink brings her back to the moment as her eyes flutter open, and she realizes Archie has made his way back upstairs, setting a glass filled with ice on the nightstand. She thinks he’s going to pull one out, but instead, he picks his belt off of the floor, wrapping the length of it around his hand a few times.

Her breathing stutters, eyes lingering on the belt before flicking up to meet Archie’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, both a question and a challenge, and her wet folds twitch at the intense look in his eyes. They’re dark, clouded thickly in arousal, and the way she licks her lips is all the answer he seems to need because before she knows it, she feels the sting of the leather whipping the inside of her thigh.

She gasps, body jerking, but she barely has the chance to register the pain when the belt comes down on her other thigh, once, twice, then again on her other thigh, alternating. She’s been manhandled by clients more times than she can try to count, roughly fucked across floors and against walls and over furniture – but never, _not once_, did that pain feel so much like pleasure the way Archie’s whips do in this moment. Her skin feels hot and tingly where he hits her, growing more and more sensitive as he scatters hits up and down her thighs.

Then she feels something wet and frigid being dragged across her skin, a moan falling from her lips as she looks down to see him tracing an ice cube over the red marks from his belt. He drags it up to her pussy, teasing her entrance and making her squeal, and then he whips her now-wet, oversensitive skin, making her moan even louder. She doesn’t think he’s actually hitting her harder, but it_ feels_ like it with every pass of the ice cube, soothing the hot throb of the leather before it’s back again, whipping against her skin.

And then the ice cube is being slipped into her, already half-melted, and her folds clamp around aching emptiness at the sudden harsh sensation. Her clit throbs, her eyes nearly falling closed from the headiness of the pleasure.

She looks up at Archie, her breath hitching as she finds him watching her with something akin to_ relief_ in his eyes. He exhales a shaky breath, shoulders falling with the motion, giving her a glimpse of something other than pure confidence for the first time since she laid eyes on him again. She remembers how she’d find this very look on his face whenever she watched him pounding into the punching bag in his bedroom back in Riverdale, pouring his anger and frustration into every hit until he was winded, drenched in sweat, smiling at her with a lightness she knows neither of them had felt so easily anymore.

Except, in this moment, he looks almost_ awed_. His eyes dart over her, taking in her wet, aching thighs, her wanton sex and tight little bundle of nerves. Relishing in how much pleasure she feels because of this, because of_ him_.

“Archie,_ please_,” she whispers, squirming atop the bed.

He exhales heavily, dropping the belt from his hand as he climbs back onto the bed. He settles between her legs, his hard length pressing against the inside of her thigh, brushing against her oversensitive skin as he slants his lips over hers. Betty has imagined his kiss so many times, but nothing,_ nothing_ could have prepared her for the raw, hungry force of it. For the way he bites down on her lower lip and roughly cups her breast through her bustier as he kisses her harder, deeper, before yanking himself away.

“Betty,” he breathes, dropping his hands to her hips and squeezing her in an oddly tender gesture. She’s almost shaking, she’s so desperate to come, and her eyes nearly fall closed at the sensation of his tip pressing right at her entrance. He cups her cheek, taps his fingers against her until her eyelids flutter open and she’s staring up into those dark, endless eyes as he pushes in, inch by inch by inch.

_Oh._

_Oh, fuck._

She sucks in a breath, holding it in her chest as if to brace herself as she feels him stretching her out, filling her deep. Until their hips are flushed together, her stare still being held with his as she feels him reach between them and circle at her slick, throbbing clit with his thumb. She squeals, whimpering, her vision whiting out from her orgasm as it finally, _finally _crashes over her, and he groans right into her ear as she clamps and clamps around him.

Then he starts to _move_ and she feels her cheeks wetting with tears. It’s too much, too intense, too _perfect_, and Archie captures her mewls with a kiss as his thrusts quickly find a rough, bruising rhythm. She tugs and tugs at her restraints as if her body isn’t sure if it wants to twist away or pull him close, pleasure spiraling down her spine in unrelenting waves. Her eyelids widen in a plea as she stares up at Archie, but honestly, she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for. She just feels completely, undeniably_ desperate_, and when he pulls himself onto his knees and hooks her leg over his shoulder, her vision nearly whites out again as he sinks in even deeper, stretches her out even wider.

“I’m going to fuck you until you pass out,” he groans, flashing that boyish grin at her as he adds, “but I promise we’ll come together before that happens.”

_I promise._

_Together._

Betty hears a tiny, quivering sound fall from her lips, feels another hot tear roll down her cheek, but before she can begin to feel mortified that she’s_ crying_ right now, Archie reaches up and brushes the wetness from her face. It’s a gentle gesture despite how hard he seems to be fucking her into the mattress and it makes her already hazy, scattered mind start to_ spin_.

“I know,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over her cheek, reading her every thought in her eyes before she can even collect them.

Her second orgasm takes her by surprise, making her gasp, making her body arch off of the bed, but he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop thrusting. She hears him groan above her, but she can’t even begin to make out the words. She’s too consumed with pleasure to make sense of_ anything_ other than the thick slide of him inside of her, dragging out her high.

It feels as if it takes entire minutes for her to come down, and only when Archie slows his thrusts to a lazy, barely there sort of rhythm, bending her leg against him as he leans in and kisses her gasping, whimpering mouth. Every inch of her feels hot, her entire body still throbbing with arousal despite coming twice, and she can already tell how sore she’ll be in just a few hours.

“Betty,” he says against their kiss, his lips curving, and her eyes fly open when she feels his thumb between them again, gently circling her oversensitive clit. He gives her that smile of his that’s always, always made her feel giddy, his eyes glinting in pure, childish mischief as he whispers, “I haven’t come yet.”

Her eyes widen, her vision blurring as he starts to move again, and it’s a long time before she can catch her breath.

* * *

She doesn’t wake when he finally pulls out of her, doesn’t even stir as he unknots her wrists from the headboard and slips her out of her sweat-soaked bustier. Not until he returns to the bed and draws the duvet over them, pulling her into his arms, and she whimpers, her entire body blissfully aching as she wraps herself around him with every ounce of energy she has left. Archie rolls himself onto his back, pulling her against his chest as his large, warm hand strokes down her spine.

“Tomorrow, we’ll make things right,” he murmurs into her hair. “You’ll leave your apartment and you’ll stay with me. You’ll focus on school so you can save lives like you were always meant to.”

She smiles sleepily, pressing a delicate kiss against his skin. “Are you trying to save me, Archie Andrews?” she whispers.

His chest vibrates in a low chuckle. “Technically, you saved me first, Betty Cooper,” he reminds, and there’s something in his voice that makes her lift her head, finding his glinting eyes through the dark of the room. “We may not have been able to save Riverdale, but you and I?” He reaches up, brushes her hair from her face, and she gnaws on her lower lip. “We’re going to save everyone else.”

_Together._

Betty nods, feeling her smile spread as she rests her head against his chest again, and she falls asleep to the gentle, steady beats of his heart.


End file.
